Forest dark
moss covered
rooted & Vined
newspapers piled
wet
smell the lake
maybe a
bleached skull
or maybe
the name of a
town
Fingerbone
battered walking boots
sagging porch
orphaned girls
The mystery of Sylvie
her Solitude
her wandering
her train trestle
traipse
her cardboard
closet
the eternal question
stay or move on
I remember beyond
words to the woodsy
silence
what’s lost in deep
waters
how a girl wants home
Mother anchor
freedom to roam
a way to belong
in the drift of
so much
fragile-solid
transience
I remember myself
at 20
in love with language
deep waters
dreams
my flannels still
scented woodsmoke
my boots by the door
homes still in the
making inside my
skin, homes waiting
on the other side
of the rise.
–Marilynne Robinson’s classic made me want to both wander and write books
Early Morning Poems 